


a dream of bodies and lakes

by Rune (VenusOurania)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s09e11 First Born, First Kiss, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Sastiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusOurania/pseuds/Rune
Summary: Gadreel’s possession left a bigger impact on Sam than anyone expected. But now Dean’s gone and Castiel’s left to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	a dream of bodies and lakes

**Author's Note:**

> My first Sastiel fic!!

_ “Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake _

_ and dress them in warm clothes again. _

_ How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running _

_ until they forget that they are horses. _

_ … These, our bodies, possessed by light. _

_ Tell me we’ll never get used to it.” _

_ ― Richard Siken, Crush _

… 

Castiel doesn’t sleep. 

He remembers needing to, though. He remembers what it’d been like, and how it’d felt. The unsettling nothingness of being asleep. And the disorientation of waking up, not knowing where he is, what had just happened. The fading memories of dreams slipping through the mind like sand or water. The exhaustion after not sleeping in a while, or the restlessness after a bad night’s sleep.

Another thing he remembers very vividly about sleeping, was the nightmares. 

Nightmares are peculiar things. It’s like… torturing yourself. But you’re unconscious. And don’t exactly want it. It’s not an experience he’s keen on revisiting. The horrifying imagery, memories merged into what if’s and other horrors. 

Castiel’s taken to staying as near Sam’s room as possible during the nights. He continues his research, or sometimes just reads magazines or watches Netflix. But he stays near. Keeps an eye, an ear, out. 

So when Sam starts screaming, Castiel reaches him in record time, especially considering he can’t just fly to him anymore. 

Sam’s nightmares are almost always violent, something Castiel finds deeply unsettling but not surprising. He’s by Sam’s bedside within moments, trying to wake Sam from the throes of whatever horrors he’s seeing. He lays a hand on Sam’s tightly coiled muscles, “Sam.” 

As expected, and as usual, he gets a gun to the face. There’s a moment of terrified confusion, before Sam’s face morphs into relief as he recognises Castiel. His body slumps, and the gun falls back to the bed from his limp fingers as he falls back to the bed. 

Cas carefully settles down beside him, the mattress dipping underneath him as he shifts closer to Sam, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Sam’s bruise ringed eyes glance over to him, before they settle back on the ceiling. His forehead is damp with sweat. 

When the silence reigns for more than a few minutes, Castiel slowly starts running his fingers through Sam’s hair. He’s tense as a bowstring, and becomes even more so at the first touch, eyes flicking over to him again before he closes them and relaxes. 

Castiel allows himself a small smile and continues the movement. 

It’s another few quiet moments before Sam speaks, “It wasn’t Kevin this time.” 

Castiel patiently waits for Sam to continue, while mulling over the words. It doesn’t narrow it down much, but it’s something. Sam’s certainly got enough fuel for a large variety of nightmares. 

Although, he’s sort of glad that this one isn’t about Kevin, those always fill Sam with self loathing and guilt. A well of broken emotions that Castiel can’t even begin to see the depths of. How do you fight the things you’re feeling? 

With Lucifer, with the trials, with the demons, once you wake up, they’re gone. Once Sam wakes up, he knows Dean’s alive, or Castiel’s alive, or that he’s in the bunker, safe. But with guilt and regret, you wake up and realise it's there. It’s just… always there. 

It’s an awful feeling, Castiel has decided. Decided a long time ago. When he first started caring. It’s like a heavy rock of wrongness in your lungs. 

Sam and Dean have the heaviest weights Castiel’s seen yet. They carry their guilt like it's a part of their personality, an integral piece of them, like they don’t know what they’d be without it. They cling to it tooth and nail, and at the same time drag it behind themselves. 

Castiel’s just learning how to. 

But tonight it’s not about Kevin. Tonight it's something else. 

“It was about Lucifer,” Sam lets out in a breathless rush, as though if he said the words fast enough, threw them out quick enough, they’d be gone. Be erased. 

Castiel had expected that, but his heart still sinks. Sam turns his head towards him, opens his eyes, bright with tears, but they don’t fall. “I--” he chokes, then shakes his head, sitting up. Castiel lets his hands fall to his lap. 

“Sam?” Cas asks, hoping that Sam would elaborate, would talk about it. He’s heard talking helps. Is supposed to help. And Sam always keeps his pain so close, so buried. 

“No, I’m-” Sam clears his throat, running a shaky hand through his hair, “I think I’m gonna go take a shower.” 

When Sam stumbles getting off the bed, Castiel automatically moves to help. But Sam flinches back as if burned, making Cas pause and take half a step back. Sam grimaces, letting out a sharp breath, “Sorry,” he says, straightening up, “I’m fine.” His hands are clenched and white knuckled. 

Cas just nods, taking another step back to give Sam his space. It’s not the first time this has happened. Sam’s been… jumpy. More than usual. 

After a few minutes, he hears the shower turn on. Castiel’s eyes drift along to the walls of Sam’s rooms. Two of them have an angel banishing sigil painted on them, ready for activation anytime. The only reason it doesn’t have angel wards is Castiel. 

He knows how Sam itches to cover his walls in them, the floor; not just his room, but the whole bunker. He’s seen Sam scrawling some of the angel wards on sheets of paper, tracing them on his arms or any surfaces he could find, over and over and over. 

He’s also caught Sam pressing on the scar on his palm several times, and seen blood well up from little half moon scratches. Sam never asks him to heal them, and Cas never offers.

The room is in a disarray, several angel lore books stacked on tables and chairs. Castiel hadn’t even known that many books on angel lore existed until Sam dug them out from the bunker. 

It’s another weight pulling down on Sam. That he’s researching angel lore instead of focusing on Abaddon, which is just as bad, if not worse, a threat. Cas has tried telling him that it’s okay, that Dean’s working on the other end. That Sam can focus on himself, for once. 

But words never really helped with guilt.

The shower runs for a long time. 

Castiel stays in Sam’s bed. 

***

The next morning, Sam’s up and about. His eyes still ringed purple, a little bloodshot. But he’s walking upright as he comes over to the table where Cas is sitting, going through one of the angel lore books. 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says, his voice unwavering and strong as he pulls out one of the chairs and flops down on it, pulling out his laptop from under his arm and setting it on the table. 

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asks, closing the heavy enochian book with a soft thud. Sam’s eyes track his movements. Not in a threatened, wary way. But as though fascinated. Then his eyes snap upto Cas. 

“What?” he blinks, “Fine, I’m fine.” He looks away, and turns on his laptop. “Thanks for, uh, waking me up last night.” 

Like every night. 

They don’t mention it. It’s almost become part of their routine now. And Cas knows it’d just have been another thing Sam felt guilty about if Castiel hadn’t been an angel and needed to sleep. Sometimes, Castiel stays in Sam’s room the whole night. He likes to think it helps. 

No one says anything after that, and Sam immerses himself into research, and Castiel knows it's about any possible angel activity in the vicinity. He wouldn't ignore other supernatural or demonic activity, but he wouldn’t pursue it either. He’d probably pass it on to some other hunter.

After watching Sam for a few moments, Castiel returns to his book, but still keeps an eye out for him. Sam undoubtedly notices. He always notices, if he’d been alert before, he’s become hyper aware of his surroundings now. But he doesn’t comment. 

After a while, when Sam’s rubbed at his eyes for the third time, and yawned for the second, Castiel gets up, making Sam startle and look at him. 

Telling Sam to sleep would be pointless, so he doesn’t try.

“I’ll make you some coffee,” he says instead. 

Sam smiles gratefully, his face marred with exhaustion, “Thanks, Cas.”

He doesn’t think it’s healthy, running on coffee and fumes and anxiety, but Sam’s one of the stubbornest people he’s met. So coffee it is. 

Dean is a loud presence. 

Without him, the bunker… doesn’t feel empty, per se, but rather, quiet. Castiel’s footsteps echo in the hallways as he makes his way to the kitchen, thinking about Dean and Sam and their tastes in music. 

Sam doesn’t listen to nearly as much music as Dean does, but when he does, it’s significantly different to the type Dean does. These types of differences have become apparent only now that he’s seeing Sam separate from Dean. They even take their coffee differently. And their food tastes vary vastly. 

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen as he pours it into Sam’s preferred mug.

According to Castiel, the aroma of coffee is deceptively pleasant. It’d been too bitter when he’d first tried it as a human, and he’d much preferred tea. Although, he’d still enjoyed the smell. He still does. 

When Castiel returns with the steaming mug, Sam isn’t looking at the laptop screen anymore. Instead, the nails of his right hand are buried in his left palm, and he’s staring absently into nothing.

Castiel’s heart sinks and he quickly makes his way over to him, setting down the cup on the table, but hovering rather than touching. “Sam?”

When there’s no response, he tries again, a little more firmly, “Sam.”

Sam flinches, but it's subdued. His wide eyes settle on Castiel before he relaxes. His thumb rubs at the new scratches left on his hand before he grabs at the mug, muttering another thanks at Castiel. 

Cas stays in place, frowning for another minute before sitting down. This time in a chair closer to Sam. He leans across and drags the book he’d been reading to himself. Sam flicks his eyes towards him but doesn’t say anything. 

Castiel doesn’t open the book, and Sam doesn’t drink. 

The mug is too hot to cup in both hands the way Sam is doing, yet he barely twitches. He’s back to staring off into nothing. 

Castiel itches to ask the question which has been nagging him for some time, ever since Dean left. Ever since he noticed Sam pressing at his palm. 

He’s too afraid of the answer. And how the guilt will double if it’s true. And the implications.

Or if Sam will answer at all. 

But he has to ask it sometime, for Sam’s sake more than anyone. He has to ask it so he can help him.

“Sam,” Castiel starts slowly, and Sam doesn’t jump this time, for which Cas is grateful. Sam looks at him, questioning when Castiel doesn’t continue for a few moments, and he steels himself. “Have you been seeing Lucifer lately?”

Sam’s body goes rigid and his eyes shutter, the mug settling on the table with a muted clatter as coffee spills from the edges; he doesn’t let go of it even as the scalding liquid splashes on his hands. 

“No,” he grits out after a second.

And Castiel believes him, he does. But-- he reaches out and peels Sam’s fingers from around the hot mug, and holds him in his hands. His hands are pink, and the fingers are a deep red. The new scratches are already scabbed over, covering older scratches and scars. 

“Does this help?” Castiel asks quietly. Sam doesn’t answer. 

For the first time since healing the damage from the Trials, Cas heals Sam again. Letting the stolen grace burn through him and wash over Sam, not only healing his hands, but also easing some of the tension in his shoulders. 

Sam still flinches hard before snatching his hands away. He starts rubbing at his palm furiously, biting at his lip. 

Castiel’s heart aches. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam starts, “I just--”

“It’s alright,” Castiel says. He can understand how an angel's grace could be disorienting and frightening after being possessed by one. He also understands the appeal of pain, the distraction it provides. The faux relief.

There is something indecipherable in Sam’s eyes as he stares at Cas, something small and uncertain. Cas wishes he had his own graces, that he was at full power. 

He’d never felt helpless before he met the Winchesters. After that, helpless seems to be the only thing he feels. 

A crack splits Sam’s voice through as he speaks, “Are you- are you real?” 

Castiel freezes. Takes in a sharp breath. 

He leans forward a little, and makes his voice urgent, “I’m real, Sam. You’re in the Men of Letters Bunker. Tell me, what are you seeing?”

But Sam just shakes his head, his eyes taking on a bright sheen, “How do I  _ know  _ you’re real? How do I know this is not just one of Gadreel’s projections?” 

Castiel stifles the urge to grimace. He… if Sam thinks that this is all just a construct, then whatever he says would be pointless. How long has Sam been thinking this? Has he been having these doubts ever since they got Gadreel out or is this relatively new? 

He remembers a little of what it’d been like, doubting yourself, your own mind, Not being able to trust what you see, looking at one thing and being unable to discern it from a hallucination. 

Sam’s soul is already damaged, the trials worsened it, and then Gadreel’s manipulation was just a fruit on top, as they say. 

Castiel reaches out again, gently taking Sam’s hands in his and stopping him from his vigorous motions. “Look at me, Sam.”

Sam looks at him, his eyes anguished and scared. Castiel’s heart breaks for him. 

“I’m an angel, Sam,” he says, softly but firmly, “I’ve got some grace back. Not mine, but it’s enough.” It isn’t, it’ll kill him sooner or later. But for now? It’ll do. It’s enough for Sam. He continues, “Angels can see each other, you know that, right, Sam? If Gadreel was still in you, I’d be able to tell.” 

Sam laughs wetly, “Yes, but if this was a construct of Gadreel’s, he’d make you say that, won’t he?”

Cas purses his lips, because yes, yes, that’s exactly what he’d say as a hallucination too. He tries again, “Angels need permission to possess people, and while you didn't give it to him knowingly, you still had to. So, if right now, you didn’t want him in you, you would be able to expel him out.”

Sam stares at him, almost blankly, before speaking, “I couldn’t with Lucifer.”

Castiel winces, “He’s an archangel, they’re different. More powerful. I’m-- I’m sorry, Sam.”

There’s a confused frown creasing his brow, as if he doesn’t understand what Cas has to be sorry about. Castiel tightens his fingers around Sam’s hand, sighing as his chest feels just a little heavier. 

Sam doesn’t deserve, never deserved so much of what he’s gone through, the pain and the burden of it all. He’s been through more than anyone else Castiel has ever met in his very long life. And still come out so selfless, forgiving, gentle and loving on the other side. Castiel doesn’t understand where Sam finds the strength. 

All he knows is that he can’t let Sam perish to someone else’s mistakes. Not if he has any say in it.

He leans forward, their faces barely inches apart, and says, “Gadreel is just an angel, a normal one. If he were still in there, you would be able to throw him out.” 

“What if his name isn’t even Gadreel?” 

Cas shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter, just the knowledge of an angelic presence is enough.”

Sam visibly swallows, before his mouth starts moving. He doesn’t say anything out loud, just whispers indecipherably. It takes Castiel a while to make out that Sam is just repeating, over and over again, in Enochian, “ _ Get out, get out, get out. _ ” 

“He’s not in there anymore, Sam,” Castiel assures softly. Sam looks at him, warily, but he stops mouthing the words. “You’ve been keeping track of time, haven’t you? You wouldn’t have lost any except for when you were sleeping. And you haven’t been doing much of that either.”

Sam looks briefly surprised that Castiel noticed that tiny habit Sam had picked up, but it’d been hard not to notice it among the others. Him constantly checking his phone, eying clocks all over the bunker. His insistence on never staying in a room long without one. His hand had been practically glued to his phone the past few days. 

“And you don’t have any blank spots of memory, inexplicably healed injuries, anything like that, do you?” Cas murmurs, rubbing soft circles on the back of Sam’s hand. He can feel Sam’s breaths on his face, now thankfully even. 

“No… No, I don’t.” Sam says hesitantly, trying to convince himself, but believing it nonetheless. The frantic, panicked edge is gone from his eyes.

They stay like that for a long time, Sam doesn’t pull away and Castiel keeps moving his fingers. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, staring intently. He looks calmer now, relaxed even. Curious, for some reason.

Castiel looks up and into Sam’s eyes, making Sam blink. “How’re you feeling?”

Sam licks his lips, “I--” his eyes flick down to their interconnected hands, “Better. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cas.”

“Of course, Sam,” Cas says, “You’re already strong enough on your own. You just don’t have to face it all on your own.” 

Castiel has now stopped rubbing circles, and Sam has intertwined their fingers together, their hands lying on their laps. Cas looks down at them, before looking back up at Sam’s face. Sam swallows visibly and shifts in his chair, his hands maintaining a firm grasp on Castiel’s. 

Sam is a beautiful human, inside out. Despite the damage, his soul is beautiful and bright and kind, and Castiel doesn’t know what he did to deserve this man’s friendship. And forgiveness for everything he’s done. 

Sam is still staring at him, and Castiel maybe feels lighter than before. 

And wondering if he’s making a mistake, wondering if it’ll be one of those stones of guilt he’ll carry with himself forever, he leans forward and closes the last inches of space between their faces, giving Sam ample time to pull away.

Sam doesn’t. 

His lips are warm when they connect with Castiel’s, and Sam responds. It’s not enthusiastic, nothing like one of those porn videos he’d seen. It’s gentle and quiet, over in less than a minute.

When they pull away, Castiel’s definitely feeling lighter. 

Sam quirks his lips, “Well, if I needed any more confirmation, Gadreel would never have made  _ that  _ up.”

**Author's Note:**

> If there's not enough Sastiel content out there, I will _make _it.__
> 
> __Here's my[tumblr](https://venus-ourania.tumblr.com/) for anyone interested! Come talk to me!_ _


End file.
